


--no task more operose than this.

by mercuryking



Series: ATOMIC ROMANCE: a story of dedication. [1]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Introspection, M/M, atomic romance, boris is a godsend i s2g, chain smoking to cope with bullshit, not nearly as much valoris as i'd wanted, valery has so much anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryking/pseuds/mercuryking
Summary: valery alekseyevich legasov is many things: anxious, clumsy, tense, brave when required to be. but he’s never been quite as uncertain as the events of chernobyl have made him be…nor about so many sundry things.





	--no task more operose than this.

**Author's Note:**

> first work on ao3 & for chernobyl. please note that this is based upon the '19 hbo miniseries and has nothing to do with the actual historical event. this series has truly changed my life, and i would like to honor it even a little through my own writing. if you truly have nothing better to do than express hatred for fanworks that cover historical events, i'd like to invite you to take a long hard look in the mirror.

Sleep is an elusive creature. No matter how hard Valery Legasov tries to find her, she rarely appears to him without being _coaxed_. _Bribed,_ not unlike so many officials whose palms need greasing in order for progress to be made _anywhere_ in this damned country. If anything, all this serves to do is make him more tired, but also paradoxically less able to sleep. No more operose tasks have existed than these: cleaning up Chernobyl, and getting a decent night's rest.

Operose. Definition: 'done with or involving much labor'. And yet their task is not deemed as such by the Kremlin. Ah yes, how droll it all must look to the bureaucracy there. How insignificant, the cost of these lives, _their_ lives. How _meaningless_. He often questions whether their work means anything at all to anyone aside from himself. If anyone is _aware_ of the efforts that all of these men have gone to, are still going to when the rest of the world is soundly sleeping in their beds. It certainly doesn't seem like it, aside from the amounts of money that exchange hands whenever he requests something from the bureau. This is why their meetings with these lackadaisical pencil-pushing men make Valery feel sick, more and more each time they have to visit. Yes _they_, because Shcherbina is with him every time.

Shcherbina. Boris.

A nervous sidelong glance at the man in question, whom is seated at his side, looking over the documents strewn about the table. Fortunately ( or otherwise, depending on the amount of vodka that Legasov has had when asked to expound on this fact ) they’re not in Moscow today, but back at the work site, crammed into this damned trailer. Shcherbina's body is warm where they occasionally press together, his eyes sharp when they flick up to meet his own. Valery can feel the heaviness of the air around them, laden with radioactivity, thick like the smoke that he exhales from the day’s tenth cigarette. Or is it his twelfth? Surely it's the radiation has addled his brain like this, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Valery Alekseyevich Legasov is many things: anxious, clumsy, tense, brave when required to be. But he’s never been quite as uncertain as the events of Chernobyl have made him be…nor about so many sundry things.

Boris' stare doesn't waver. "What do we do now, Valery? The miners are nearly finished, but how will we clear the roof?"

Valery coughs, breath laced with a touch of smoke. "Give me more time to think about it. I'll...have an answer as soon as I can."

_'Another cigarette,'_ he thinks. Trembling hands fumble for his lighter, which is buried somewhere beneath the mass of papers. Beside him, Boris heaves a tired sigh and pours two glasses of vodka. Two: of course one is for him. 'To calm your nerves,' Boris will say. Fuck, why is he so jittery tonight? Valery can't even keep his hands still long enough to hold his paperwork. They have to be doing _something_: fiddling with a pen, tugging at his hair, rolling a cigarette between tense fingers. It's the radiation, it _has to be_.

Yet another uncertainty to add to his list. That makes uncertainty number four.

Yes, he's listing them in his mind. If nothing else, Valery Legasov keeps good track of his shortcomings. All data needs to be kept somewhere, he reasons, including these...as paltry as they may seem to others.

He downs the shot of vodka that Boris offers while pondering uncertainty number one: **the truth**. Not _what it is_ quite as much as _the cost of telling it_. Most likely, whether or not he can be brave enough to _tell it_. The cost of truth in a nation determined not to hear it seems _too great_ to pay, and Valery is not rich enough to even try, not in money or in spirit. But...telling the truth is _doing what's right_. As a scientist, he is bound to answer the call of truth, no matter how far and long the chase. Is it worth giving his life for?

Before he can continue down the list, Boris' gruff voice interrupts his thought process. "I think we've been here long enough. Let's go back to the hotel, Legasov." An almost eager nod, and Valery grabs his jacket before he allows himself to be led out of the trailer, following the politician's steps rather than walking at his side.

The drive back to Pripyat allows him time to dwell on uncertainty number two: **his actions**. Has he doomed all of these men to death simply because of all the maybes that surround the entire situation? What if the core doesn’t melt down into the groundwater? What if the miners are digging around the clock, far from their loved ones, far from their mine…for nothing? At his behest? Will they forgive him for dooming them to early graves? And _God_, what about the men who will be needed for the laundry list of tasks ahead of them? Clearing the roof? Building the containment? Razing the land? Can he _ever_ be forgiven for all of the lives that his actions will take?

Why forgiveness matters is something that he isn't prepared to think about just yet. Boris is saying his name again, and they step out into the night to walk into the hotel. He follows Boris like a lost puppy, eyes trained on the floor, brows furrowed in thought. That cigarette still hangs limp and unlit from his fingers, something that the politician notices when they get into the elevator. He comments on it; Valery simply waves him off.

Because uncertainty number three is **Boris Yevdokimovich Shcherbina**. He's a good man, albeit a party man, gruff and firm and leaderly. Married, though he doesn't discuss it. Probably has kids, but again, they don't discuss it. Their meeting had been _more than a little rough_, the frantic situation giving way to a cool acceptance as the helicopter had turned away from the burning plant. But now? _Something else is aflame here_. Something that Valery has done his best to smother from the very moment that little cinder had started to glow away beneath the cage of his ribs. Why? Why _him?_ Why _now?!_ God, if only he could be a robot, completely run on science and fact...

...robots.

"...robots, Boris."

The politician stops in the hallway and glances back at him. "Robots?"

"To clear the roof." Another cough, this time covered by a clearing of his throat. "We'll use robots. Machinery. Remotely operated only, of course. Granted, we'll have to find something...capable of withstanding that amount of radiation. Perhaps a _lunar rover_ or something, but God, we could never get our hands on--"

"I'll have a moon rover for you in two days, Valery." Boris' expression lightens a bit after he gives a stern nod. For a moment Valery's heart stutters, and all he can do is nod in return.

They enter the dimly lit hotel room together, and he finally manages to light that cigarette, bringing it hastily to his lips. The smoke fills his lungs, sweet relief. Boris is already going to the desk to pour more shots of vodka, though Valery isn't sure he'll drink any of it. He's too lost in the sea of his own thoughts, swept up in the rapid churning of his mind.

The chair Boris now occupies creaks as he turns to stare at the scientist, who casts him a forlorn look in return. He's floundering, and Boris has effectively become his buoy. As if able to detect Valery's inner turmoil, Boris frowns, then takes his shot of vodka before edging the other glass towards the skittish scientist.

"...what is it?"

He swallows. His tongue feels thick, heavy, leaden. Valery works his jaw a few times before finally managing to slick his lips with that too-heavy tongue. What comes out is a carefully crafted lie that he hopes the politician will buy into; "I'm just a little antsy, is all. Nervous energy, all scientists have it. Shall we go down to the bar for a drink before we discuss our findings, comrade Shcherbina?"

Despite what most think, Boris is fairly quick on the draw. He falls easily into the lie, rising from the chair and downing Valery's shot of vodka before clapping him roughly on the shoulder for the microphones to hear. "Wiser words were never spoken, comrade Legasov! Come, let's see who else is burning the midnight oil!" He takes the lead as usual, dragging Valery out of the room and making a show of slamming the door. Their eyes meet, and as if a switch has been flipped, Boris gestures for _him_ to lead.

Naturally Valery doesn't go to the bar. Rather, they go, but they do not linger. Boris grabs a bottle of vodka for them to share, allowing them to make an appearance for the KGB members tailing them to stick with the story that had been heard from their room. But then Valery immediately leads them out of the doors of the hotel and into the night. They make a sharp turn and briskly walk a few yards away from the doors before slowing down upon leaving the courtyard. It's then that Boris turns to fix him with that 'I know you better than you think I do' expression on his face and arches a brow. "What is it, Valera? What is it _really?_"

This time, Valery crumbles without pressing. "How inconsequential is it all, Boris?" It's asked without preamble, blurted out into the crisp night air almost irreverently. He doesn't even register the affectionate change to his name.

Boris' frown deepens. "What do you mean?"

Valery's laughter is quick, terse, cynical. "This. This entire mess. How inconsequential it appears to be to the Kremlin. How little it all seems to matter! They're dying, _we're_ dying! And yet all they want at the end of the day is my report and your signature?!" His voice is rising in volume with every sentence: he knows **they** could be listening, but it's too late to dam up his thoughts. "Is this really the way things are to be? These men, these brave _wonderful_ men who I, _we_, have sentenced to death because of the bureaucrats who want to lie and lie and lie?! Tell me, Boris!! You've played the game for long enough: _what will these men's families be told when they die?!_"

In seconds Boris is on him, pressing him back against the cool wall and covering his mouth with one large hand. "_Be quiet._ What if they hear you?"

The chemist scoffs and shakes his head to dislodge Boris' hand. "I don't know that I care anymore, Boris," he utters despondently. "How can I care when they clearly don't?"

Shcherbina's eyes dart to either side before he sighs and drops the hand that had been covering Valery's mouth to sit against his shoulder instead. He's quiet for a long while, stepping out of the scientist's personal space but never removing his hand from where it comfortably rests. But Legasov is tense, more tense than he has ever been. His hands shake, his body yearning for a cigarette to distract his frazzled mind. He's just shouted what could be seen as the most vile of things _right into the void of night_ in front of _a career party man_ who for all appearances could be _Gorbachev's best friend__!!_ The KGB could be _anywhere_, yet he'd just spouted that off without even thinking about the consequences--

"...you care because you're a good man, Valery Alekseyevich Legasov," Boris grumbles. That stops Valery's deprecating thoughts _cold_. "You care about those men. You care about the opinions of those higher than us _because_ you want what's best for our boys. You care because you want to see some good come out of this shitty situation. That's why you're angry: because you _care_. And so what if you don't fully understand why? Do you really _need to?_"

Again Valery's jaw works. Open, close. Unsure eyes flick between Shcherbina's face and the darkness on either side of them. The cool stone facade of the hotel behind him grounds him in the moment, keeps him from running away with his ever-working mind. "...I...Boris..."

The politician gestures for them to resume their walk. Valery takes a deep breath before pushing away from the wall and walking back to Boris' side, allowing him to take the lead once again and set their pace. And as they walk, their conversation continues with Boris saying, "To us, it is anything but inconsequential. Who gives a damn what they think? Let them have their truth so long as you have your own, Valera. I'll continue getting you everything you need to make the difference here so that _hopefully_ no more men will have to die early because of this catastrophe. No more families will mourn if I have anything to say about it."

Valery stares at him. Openly stares. He even stops walking and just regards Boris with abject awe for a moment. For some reason that touches the scientist more than anything else that Boris has said to him over the course of their odd friendship... "...Boris...I...I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for, Valera."

Here Valery swallows past the lump in his throat and jogs to catch up with his friend. "But I do. I do have something to apologize for." At the eyebrow raise his response garners, the scientist drops his gaze to the sidewalk and mutters, "Boris, what is my truth? How can I change this? Me? My lacking? I'm not..._good at this_. I'm not-- _any scientist_ could be a better fit for this job than I am, Boris. I'm-- I'm just _me_. So what is my truth? What...what am I doing?"

Boris looks up at the sky as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat. "...your truth is whatever you make of it, don't you think?" A shared glance. Valery must look either worried or completely stymied, for Boris continues; "Your truth is the legacy that we leave behind here, Valera. And you'll leave behind something wonderful: we will accomplish this task _together_. To hell with anyone who thinks it can't be done."

For a moment Valery feels the weight of Chernobyl lift off of his shoulders along with Boris' hand. It's the first time that he truly feels that he can put his uncertainties to rest, at least for now. He's not alone, even though he's felt that way up until this point despite the politician's constant presence. It feels as though they're a _united front_ now, perhaps even a force to be reckoned with at those party meetings. His impassioned facts, Boris' strength and command...it's nearly _romantic_ to consider how much they could accomplish together, despite having such little time left to do it. It's not easy, allowing his mind to be quieted by Boris' gentle, gruff reassuring of him...but for tonight, Valery lets himself go. He lets himself lean in when Boris drapes an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in close, resting their heads against one another as they return to the hotel. He lets himself relax as they pass their KGB monitors, listening as Boris chats almost excitedly about Tarakanov's visit later this week. He lets himself almost _smile_ as they enter the hotel again. _Almost_.

Beneath that starry, radioactive sky, Valery Legasov comes to terms with his uncertainties and his tasks. He goes to bed that night with Boris' lingering warmth around his shoulders, chasing the nightmares away and beckoning that elusive creature called _sleep_ to keep him and his flaws company.

**Author's Note:**

> this got longer than i intended it to be. also less valoris than i had initially planned but it's still quite strong.


End file.
